


Teenage Troublemaker - Like Father, like Son?

by LostGirl27



Series: Little Troublemaker [8]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Dad Logan, Logan being a Dad, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual Spanking, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, Parental Discipline, Spanking of a teenager, Teenage Rebellion, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:42:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostGirl27/pseuds/LostGirl27
Summary: Iiiiiii knoooooow ;-) Don't scold me, please. I know I'm supposed to update my main story, but I'm just... not all-the-way-happy with it right now. I'm working on it, though, I promise! To show you that I've not just been sitting around at home and on my hands, I've a new secondary line story for you. Another 'one shot', if you will... although, to be fair, my 'one shots' tend to have at least three chapters as well, so that's not the most fitting term for them... but be it as it may...Beware of moody teenagers, underage drinking and smoking, lots of teenage angst and our favourite father-son duo trying to figure it all out. And, of course, lots of fluff - at some point. Enjoy!Milo Elias Robin Huntzberger– 16 yearsLorelai “Lori” Emily Ryanne Huntzberger– 8 yearsLucas Eric Richard Huntzberger – 8 years
Relationships: Logan Huntzberger/Original Character(s), Rory Gilmore/Logan Huntzberger
Series: Little Troublemaker [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/325976
Comments: 36
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Logan’s POV**

I could feel the anger and fury practically radiating off of me in waves as I briskly made my way through the almost empty halls of Hopkins High School – the place where my eldest son, one Milo Elias Robin Huntzberger, only a few months shy of his seventeenth birthday, was probably going to fall victim to a quick and _almost_ painless death. Quick and painless, if he possessed enough common sense as well as intact survival instincts to come forward with an explanation to his latest escapades, that was. A very _good_ , very _solid_ explanation.

I must have looked quite the fright with both of my hands clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists, my facial expression undoubtedly contorted into a fierce scowl and my eyes glinting with irritation and sheer dangerousness, because the few other students that did cross my path either gasped in surprise, gulped noisily when they spotted the look upon my face or even turned on their heels and hurried into a different direction.

It was all the same to me. At the very moment, I honestly didn’t care if one of them chose to have my scary “angry-dad-face” as their next Halloween mask. At the very moment, I only had one goal – I wanted to barge into the headmaster’s office where I was bound to come upon my defiant spawn – my very much in trouble defiant spawn – and once I was able to get my hands on him, I would…

“Mr. Huntzberger?” an elderly lady asked tentatively as I came to a sudden halt in front of the headmaster’s office.

I whirled around and all but glared at her – as quickly as I had sent that very glare her way, though, I took a deep breath and rearranged my expression. I didn’t want to be hauled out of Milo’s school because Mrs. Norris, the headmaster’s secretary, had been killed by one of my furious looks.

As it turned out, I wouldn’t have needed to worry about her at all, as she was now sending her very own death-stare in my direction. I cleared my throat and walked over to her desk, an apology already on my lips – I never got the chance to utter it, though.

“Mr. Tomlinson is already waiting for you,” Mrs. Norris stated coolly, pursing her lips. “Young Mr. Huntzberger is with him, of course.”

“Thank you,” I replied, wincing a little at how hoarse my own voice sounded.

Mrs. Norris turned her attention back to her computer, choosing not to address my thanks. Squaring my shoulders, I exhaled deeply without making a noise and placed my hand on the doorknob in front of me, turning it.

When I opened the door, two sets of eyes simultaneously flickered towards me. One set of eyes looked at me expectantly and rather dismissive, the other, younger pair – the one that was so much like my own – was narrowed and almost mirroring the glare I had levelled at Mrs. Norris outside a few minutes before. It surprised me, but I refused to show it. I hadn’t expected Milo to give me any dirty looks, not today. Wasn’t he aware of how much trouble he was currently in?

“Mr. Huntzberger,” greeted the man behind his massive desk before I could say something. “So good of you to come.”

The light sarcasm in his tone didn’t go unnoticed by me – and not by my son, either. Milo turned his glare away from me and right at the headmaster.

“I came as soon as I got the call,” I stated, making Mr. Tomlinson smile briefly. He nodded, raising both his bushy eyebrows.

“Still… a doctor of your _reputation and stature_ sure has more pressing matters at hand than picking his teenage son up from school,” the headmaster drawled and stood up from his seat, reaching out a hand. I considered not shaking hands with him, but of course, that wasn’t an option.

“A teacher of your _reputation and stature_ will agree with me that children are our greatest good. In other words: Nothing is more important or _pressing_ , as you put it, than being there when one of my kids is facing trouble of some sort,” I shot back, not missing a beat. A quick glance at Milo made me raise an eyebrow – the boy was smirking! And not only that: he was smirking rather triumphantly. Honestly, what had happened here? Junior, what have you gotten yourself into?

Thankfully, Milo got his facial expression under control before the headmaster and I had stopped shaking hands and before Tomlinson had the chance to notice. He dropped his gaze and just stared at the floor.

“Truer words were never spoken. Please take a seat,” the headmaster flashed me an unpleasant smile and reclaimed his own seat, watching me over the rims of his round glasses like a hawk.

“Thank you,” I said, sitting down.

“Well, now that we are all gathered, let’s start. Shall we?” Tomlinson suggested, lazily leafing through a record in front of him.

“Milo Elias Robin Huntzberger, captain of-“ he started to read, but was cut off by my son.

“Just Milo,” the teenager interrupted him flippantly. “And if you’re talking about the position of being captain of the soccer team, I wasn’t appointed yet… sir.”

The “sir” was rather hastily added in the end, as I put my right arm around the back of his chair and placed my hand to the back of his neck, giving it a light squeeze.

It was meant as a small warning and as a placating gesture on my part – there really was no point in riling Mr. Tomlinson up.

The headmaster gave him a look of pure irritation, then dismissed Milo’s input as he began to read once more: “Milo Elias Robin Huntzberger, _soon-to-be_ captain of the soccer team. Executive chairman of Hopkin’s Debating Society. Member of the Science Club and what…? You’re part of Hopkin’s drama group as well?”

He looked up from the sheet he’d been reading off and gave first me, then my son a surprised look.

“Well, I’m not nearly as busy a man as you, Mr. Tomlinson, but-“ Milo began, sarcasm practically dripping from his every word.

“Don’t, Milo. Cool it,” I advised, giving his neck another gentle squeeze.

Mr. Tomlinson’s jaw and mouth twitched as he smiled winningly. He adjusted his glasses with his forefinger.

“It’s nice to see a parent and child where the father actually knows how to keep his son in line for a change,” he commented rather conversationally, but his eyes told a whole lot of a different story. They were as cold as ice, glaring at the teenage boy in front of him. “Most of the time, it’s the other way round these days.”

I chose not to give an answer to that and simply nodded, praying to the high heavens that Milo would keep his mouth shut as well.

“Where were we? Oh, yes. I almost forgot,” Tomlinson went on. “Your record states that you’re on top of almost all of your classes. Straight As and good Bs mostly. The last C was… in English, last term. You only got part credit for three missed homework assignments in a row. Other than that, there’s nothing negative to be found in here about you, Mr. Huntzberger. You’re usually a well-conducted young man, too. Your teachers’ notes are nothing short of hymns of praise.”

At the headmaster’s recounts, I couldn’t help the small, proud smile that crept onto my face and – without a doubt – even made my eyes sparkle. A familiar feeling of warmth spread inside of me. My studious, smart and well-behaved young man.

“I’m quite positive that everyone in this room already knows _all_ about my grades. I’m also quite positive that you’re not trying to just mention them willy-nilly or that you even like to talk about my academic accomplishments, so could you please be so kind and _get to the point_? It’s like you said, sir, my father is very busy and has better things to do than sit here and listen to all that boloney.”

Scratch what I said earlier and replace it with: My cocky, mouthy, _frustrating and soon-to-be sorry little boy_.

“Hey,” I admonished, leaning over and turning the back of Milo’s chair towards me in one, rather jerky movement. The boy looked at me and I saw that he was regretting his choice of words. A streak of worry crossed over his features – and rightly so.

“Does your father need to do something about that attitude of yours? Fix it, maybe? I’m sure there’s an empty classroom somewhere in that dignified building where we can go to for a bit. Just to _stretch our legs_ , you know,” I drawled pointedly, completely ignoring the approving snort the headmaster gave and concentrating solely on my son.

“No, I’m good. Sorry,” Milo mumbled, only holding eye contact with me for about ten seconds before dropping his gaze once more. I instantly noticed how his cheeks flushed and to be completely honest, it gave me a feeling of satisfaction. Maybe he’d deserved that bit of… well, humiliation. Maybe it even helps to keep his smart mouth in check for the rest of our talk, I thought to myself.

“No more outbursts from you. Got it?” I pressed sternly as I reached out and gently lifted his chin up with two fingers to get him to look at me again.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Wonderful,” I nodded and watched how he grabbed his chair’s arms and nudged it back to where it was before.

Looking back to Tomlinson, I cleared my throat.

“Mr. Tomlinson, I apologise for my son’s unnecessary as well as disrespectful tirade,” I said, then raised a questioning eyebrow. “But, as disrespectful as it might have been, he does have a valid point. You still haven’t explained fully why we are here today. You called me about an hour ago and told me that he broke _several_ school rules and is on the verge of expulsion… now I would very much like to know _why_.”

“Ah. Now I see where our executive chairman of the school’s Debating Society and honorary member of the drama group has his… notable traits from. Anyway, the simple question that I’m proposing here is: Where did young Mr. Huntzberger here, obviously one of the best students that ever went to Hopkin’s Private High School, get the idea that he could use today’s recess to drink alcohol out of a hip flask and smoke cigarettes?”

Closing my eyes briefly, I sighed and put a hand to my forehead. 3-2-1, hello, headache!

I then turned slightly, cocking my head to the side and giving my wayward sixteen-year-old who was moodily staring into space a fierce look.

It took a few seconds for him to realise that I was watching him or to gather up the courage to look up and meet my eyes, but when he did, it was as if all the cockiness and rudeness left his lean body all at once – at least for now. He bit his lower lip and gulped audibly.

Oh, little troublemaker. You’re so dead!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your kind reviews! I honestly wasn't prepared for you to like it so much :-) So I hope you're going to like the second chapter as well... although I made sure to put a few purposely unanswered questions into it to keep you guys wondering... yep, I'm obnoxious like that sometimes.
> 
> Enjoy! Oh, yeah, and beware of some (mild?) swearing... teenagers, urgh! ;-)
> 
> PS: Jesus, I almost forgot to tell you... I started watching The Resident on Friday (after putting it off for quite some time now) and what can I say... Matt Czuchry is to die for as Dr. Conrad Hawkins! Funnily enough, back in 2011(-ish), when I started writing Little Troublemaker, I honestly imagined Logan looking/talking/walking/acting like that as a doctor... come to think of it, it's almost uncanny!

**Milo’s POV**

I was so dead.

Shit, shit, shit and also fuck. Why did life hate me so much – in general, I mean?

_Dad knew now._ And, to make matters even worse, he seemed to believe the headmaster, even though he didn’t even know the _entire_ story… which I couldn’t tell him. And of course, everything that had happened today was my own stupid fault. Yep. There was no one else to blame but me in that game. What had I been thinking? And why couldn’t I – for the life of me – keep my stupid food trap shut when necessary? Fuck, fuck, fuck and also shit.

Judging by the way Dad was glaring at me, I probably wouldn’t live long enough to contemplate all too long and too hard about all those things, though.

In the meantime, Headmaster Tomlinson was apparently having the time of his life, just like he’d been enjoying himself far too much while the two of us were waiting for my father to arrive, sighing dramatically ever so often as he read through my record and making sure to tell me how very angry Dad had sounded on the phone earlier. It had bugged me to no end back then, because part of me knew that Tomlinson had only been trying to provoke and gall me, but of course, I’d been plenty worried about Dad’s reaction as well - especially considering the fact that my Mom and the twins were currently on a field trip in New York and wouldn't be back for another few days. Which meant... I was on my own with Dad and his ire, with nobody to distract him from what I'd done.

Anyway, when he finally came barging into the headmaster’s office, looking like the Terminator type T-800 incarnate and ready to see heads rolling – or, more precisely, to see _my_ head rolling – I hadn’t been able to do anything else but to glare right back, the anger inside of me heating up. And now… now that he was looking at me with his famous Logan-Huntzberger-stare, all my initial irritation and fury evaporated and I was left with nothing but a horrendous feeling of regret.

What a great, big mess.

“… And as if breaking our school’s rules by underage drinking and smoking wasn’t enough, your son also mouthed off and used rather vile language when Mr. Philips caught the boys behind the sports venue’s shed,” Mr. Tomlinson went on, causing Dad’s dark and steely look to darken even further. “At least the other boys had enough common sense to apologise and show some kind of remorse after having been caught, unlike _a certain someone_ …”

Tomlinson scrutinised me as he spoke – even though I was still looking at my father, I could feel the headmaster’s eyes practically glued onto me.

“Oh, you don’t say,” Dad commented pleasantly, his voice a sharp and almost unnatural contrast to the hard look he was giving me. “Vile language, hmm?”

I desperately wanted to run away and hide somewhere – or at least drop my gaze to be able to avoid his fierce and meaningful stare, but I couldn’t, of course. Once more, I found myself rooted to the spot while one chill raced the next one down my spine.

So it was dark brown steel versus… well, puppy-dog-eyes that were loosely based on the same colour, but sans the steely edge, of course.

My mouth went dry.

Then, Dad raised both his eyebrows for a second.

“Is that true?” he finally asked through gritted teeth and without giving Mr. Tomlinson so much as a sideways glance. He was still exclusively concentrating on me.

“I-“ I started, but the headmaster interrupted me.

“Of course it’s true, Mr. Huntzberger. Your son was caught red-handed,” he all but hissed, causing my Dad to finally pry his unrelenting eyes off of me and look at him instead.

“Mr. Philips – one of my most trusted colleagues, I might add – has caught your son, together with three other boys.”

“I see,” Dad replied, still sounding casual. His jaw was working overtime, though.

He then looked back at me and I swear, if looks had the ability of killing, I would be pushing up the daisies already.

This time, however, I managed to drop my gaze and stare at my slightly shaking hands that lay in my lap. _It was just so unfair… I hadn’t even…_

“Milo,” I heard my Dad say and I whipped my eyes back up to look at him. Although he was addressing me directly now, he still didn’t sound angry. He didn’t even sound irritated. Seriously, what was wrong with that guy? How did he manage to give me those long and furious looks while sounding as if he was about to read me a bedtime story? I grew up with him and it still surprised me every single time I found myself in trouble.

“Is that the whole truth?” he asked curiously while his eyes flicked back and forth between mine.

“Mr. Huntzberger-“ the headmaster began, sounding exasperated, but Dad cut him off.

“With all due respect, Mr. Tomlinson,” he said, his tone dropping an octave. “At the moment, I know your side of the story, yours and Mr. Philips, I suppose. But in order for me to get the bigger picture, I would like to hear my son’s side of the story now, too. After all, _it is_ Milo we’re talking about here. And I flat out refuse to leave him out of this talk – so until I’ve heard what he’s got to say about all of this, I’d appreciate it very much if you could-“

“It’s true,” I muttered.

Dad immediately whirled around, his look a perfect mixture of shock and anger. I gulped and quickly glanced at Mr. Tomlinson who had his arms folded over his chest and was leaning back casually in his chair, looking rather pleased with himself.

Oh, you self-righteous jerk. You really _love_ the fact that your work involves pedagogics and the education of children, right? Since you’re _so good_ with them…

“Which part?” my Dad prodded doubtfully.

“Uhm…,” I hesitated. If I told the _whole_ truth now, I…

“No, son. That’s _so_ not on,” Dad said as he shook his head firmly. “You need to be honest with me, right here and now. We don’t lie to each other. We don’t do that in our family, so don’t even think about lying or giving me any lies of omission right now... just don’t.”

“It is true, Dad. Mr. Philips caught us.”

The lie made my stomach do a flip-flop. Dad’s eyes widened for a millisecond and his jaw twitched once again, causing me to briefly worry about his next dentist’s appointment.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as he narrowed his eyes sternly at me. There was a brief streak of sheer consternation crossing his features, something that made me think that he didn’t believe a word I’d just said, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

“My guess is, you’re going to be, Mr. Huntzberger,” Tomlinson chuckled humourlessly, adjusting his dorky glasses for the umpteenth time this afternoon. I blushed furiously as I realised that the headmaster probably had an inkling of how my Dad sometimes handled matters of discipline at home. But it was even worse than that. Not only did it sound as if he _knew_ that my parents used spanking as a form of punishment when I or my siblings had really messed up, but it also sounded as if it pleased him to no end.

Wretched, malicious redcoat!

Dad heaved a tired sigh before turning away from me and eyeing the headmaster. He actually looked as if he wanted to protest and tell him that he could keep his opinions to himself, but he refrained from it. I didn’t know why, but I felt my stomach clench rather painfully at that moment. Was Dad really that disappointed and mad at me that he wouldn’t stand up for me anymore? Maybe it had been a dumb idea, after all. And maybe it had been an _utter crackbrained_ idea to lie straight to his face about it just moments ago…

“What does Milo need to do in order to avoid expulsion?” he asked the headmaster, sounding calm and collected once more.

“Hmm,” Mr. Tomlinson hummed, pretending to seriously consider his options. “He’d have to serve two weeks’ worth of detention, just like his companions in crime. Other than that, the school expects an open letter of apology that will be displayed at the black board for every student and all the academic staff to see…”

Dad didn’t comment and simply nodded, holding up a hand to me to silence any complaints or protests I might have wanted to give.

I clenched my hands that were still lying in my lap into fists, feeling anger rise inside of me anew. Those were _my_ punishments – and Dad wouldn’t even let me voice my opinions on them. Hadn’t he wanted to involve me in the conversation just minutes ago? Now, he wanted me to keep silent and he wouldn’t even try to lessen them somehow!

A tiny voice at the back of my mind kept whispering that I probably deserved all of that and that I should have started talking when Dad had given me the chance to do so, but I ignored that voice. I was too angry to see reason at the moment – and frankly, I was too angry to care about the unpleasant _talk_ I would likely have to have with Dad later on, as soon as we arrived home and he’d had some time to cool off.

So when the headmaster continued listing several chores regarding the school’s grounds and buildings and Dad just kept nodding rather impassively, I suddenly decided that I’d heard enough.

“Oh, come on! You can’t be serious,” I all but whined when Tomlinson suggested that my friends and I should clean classrooms during recesses for the better part of next month.

While the headmaster merely raised an eyebrow and stopped speaking, my Dad’s head jerked in my direction and he fixed me with a look that could have made Grandfather _and_ Auntie Paris take to their heels without hesitation. 

I refused to heed the warning I also managed to see in those dark brown eyes and hastily went on: “I know we messed up, but come on… it was only a small hip flask and only a couple Marlboros-“

“I beg to differ, Mr. Huntzberger,” Tomlinson grinned. “Governing law clearly states that _any_ underage drinking or smoking is strictly prohibited. And since you decided to break said law on school grounds, it even gives me the right to press charges against you and the other young men.”

“What?!” I exclaimed, hopping up from my seat and staring at the headmaster with wide, shocked eyes. A criminal complaint… that jerk was going to report against me and my friends, he was going to…

The next moment, I felt a familiar hand on my left shoulder.

“Sit down, Milo,” my Dad said and I whipped my head around to face him. His facial expression was serious, his lips pressed together in a firm line.

“But, Dad-“ I started, but he shook his head.

“Don’t “but Dad” me, young man. You’re going to sit yourself down _this minute_ and listen to what Mr. Tomlinson has to say,” he ordered, applying just a little pressure to my shoulder to get me to sit down again.

“It’s not fair! Just because we-“

Dad reached out his other hand and planted it firmly on my other shoulder, then turned me around to fully face him.

There was that dangerous glint in his eyes again – the one that usually got me to shut up when it was directed at me.

“Listen to me, junior,” Dad directed. “Are you listening?”

I nodded and felt my ear tips growing hot. When I attempted to look away, he snapped: “No, you keep those eyes on me. I’ve got to tell you, I’m losing my patience here pretty fast and I’m less and less in the mood for your backtalk and cocky attitude. This is your last warning, kiddo. Either you stop digging yourself an even deeper hole and calm down _right now_ , or the two of us can go someplace secluded and have some one-on-one time.”

To my utter annoyance, I could feel tears starting to sting behind my eyes at his harsh words and the feeling of utter embarrassment that was suddenly flooding my body. But I wouldn’t back down now – I couldn’t. Dad was holding my eyes captive with his own darker ones.

“Good. Now that I have your attention, I want you to listen closely and face the facts,” he said, his tone softening just the tiniest bit. “You’re sixteen years old, Milo. You’re sixteen years old and during today’s recess, you drank God knows which kind of booze from a hip flask, you smoked cigarettes and you got caught red-handed, as it seems – you know what that means?”

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I didn’t. I knew it had been a rhetorical question anyway and that Dad didn’t expect me to answer it.

“It means that Mr. Tomlinson has every right to issue those punishments and yes, he’s even got the right to press charges against you,” he continued bluntly, making my whole body stiffen involuntarily. “So if you don’t want that to happen, then you’ll sit down on that chair like a good boy and take those lumps that are coming your way. You made some serious mistakes today, so you’ve got to deal with the consequences, whether you like to or not.”

He let those words sink in for a few seconds and moved his hands from my shoulders to the back of my neck, placing his thumbs against my hot cheeks.

“Now, will you do as I say and sit down?” he asked, his tone brooking absolutely no room for argument, so I nodded once more. His eyes held mine for another moment, then he let go of me and nodded towards my chair.

Sitting down, I let out an almost inaudible huff. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dad reclaiming his seat again, too. A moment later, the headmaster clapped his hands in sarcastic applause.

“Goodness,” he said, his voice full of false amazement. “You truly have missed your vocation. You’d have made quite the educator, Mr. Huntzberger.”

“How good of you to remind me, Mr. Tomlinson,” Dad replied nonchalantly and I looked sideways at him, wondering what he was getting at.

Tomlinson frowned. “Pardon?”

“Quite actually, it’s Dr. Huntzberger, not Mr. Huntzberger, if you please.”

Touché, Dad, I thought to myself and quickly hid the very small, very faint smile that suddenly danced around the corners of my mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we go... the puzzle slowly gets put together ;-)
> 
> ** mention of spanking, but no actual swats in here **

**Logan’s POV**

Of course, Tomlinson wasn’t all that keen on prolonging our talk any more than strictly necessary, not after I’d told him to call me by my doctor’s degree. Honestly, who had appointed that jerk to be headmaster of a high school? He’d been better off somewhere where he wouldn’t have to get up close to children, not to mention that the children themselves would have been better off that way. And to think that I usually liked Brits and their sardonic sense of humour…

Milo, on the other hand, seemed to completely zone out after I’d given him a piece of my mind. He’d sagged back in his chair and just kept staring darkly at the hardwood floor below the headmaster’s desk. No more protests over Tomlinson’s hilariously long list of punishments came over his lips. I instinctively knew that there was something amiss here, though. While I wasn’t naïve enough to think that trying out alcohol or cigarettes at the age of sixteen was something my eldest boy wouldn’t even dream of doing – he was his father’s son, after all – I couldn’t help but think that he had purposely left out some important information.

Giving my boy a sideways glance, I sighed. You’re a right one, junior, I thought to myself dryly. But just you wait, I definitely plan on getting to the _bottom_ of it all! Figuratively speaking… well, mostly. I think. Argh, I don’t know. You better not have lied to me, Milo…

Looking back at the headmaster, I tried to concentrate on what he was ranting about, but failed after only a minute or so.

If what he had stated was indeed true and Milo had been drinking, smoking _and_ mouthing off at a teacher, I would have to dole out an adequately harsh punishment, one that the boy wouldn’t soon forget and that took nearly getting expelled and facing a criminal complaint into consideration as well.

Crap, I thought, groaning inwardly.

I hadn’t had to spank Milo in almost a year – he was so mature and easy-going most of the time, even though he was in the middle of his teenage years. The last time I had to bring out the big guns happened when he and his best friend Ryan had been caught sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to meet up with some other fifteen-, sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds at a local park to ride their skates and bikes. Back then, the police had gotten a call from an irritated neighbour and they had crashed the boys’ party at the park and had brought them home one by one at around 2 o’clock in the morning. I hadn’t originally planned on giving him a spanking at the time, but the fact that he hadn’t exactly been repentant or forthcoming with an explanation and had even shrugged it off as ‘no big deal’ had somewhat done it for both Rory and me. Rory had been downright furious as she instantly had thought about all the horrible things that could have happened to the mischievous teenage boys and had even opted for two spankings and a grounding that lasted for a month. In the end, I had managed to calm the mother hen down a little, telling her that I’d done the same thing a couple of times when I had been a teenager (without Milo listening in on it, of course, as I didn’t want to give him any more ideas). We had then agreed on letting Milo choose between a weeklong grounding and a fifteen-swat-spanking on the bare bottom or the grounding and two bedtime spankings on his pyjama-clad bottom.

Thinking back to that incident, I nearly shuddered. Milo had refused to submit to _any_ punishment at first and had verbally lashed out at his mother and me, causing me to nearly threat him with using a hairbrush instead of just my hand – something I had endured myself at the hands of Mitchum on an almost regular basis after passing the age of twelve. _Something_ that I had vowed to never do to my own children. Thanks to Milo’s good conscience, though, he had begun to see reason before I could utter such a threat and had chosen the first option after I’d let him steam for a bit.

Now, I really wasn’t sure what I should do in order to get him to realise how serious today’s situation was… If it hadn’t been for Tomlinson’s sick sense of humour or the fact that he seemed to enjoy his power trip far too much to let an opportunity to give one of his school’s best students some detention slide, Milo would now be facing a trial at juvenile court, quite probably. 

Something like today couldn’t happen again, in any case – and it was my duty as Milo’s Dad to make sure of it. I could feel a terrible mix of resignation and dread spreading inside of me at that thought.

“In any case, Mr. Philips will expect your apology letter by no later than next Monday, Mr. Huntzberger,” Mr. Tomlinson was telling Milo, ripping me from my thoughts. Hang on. _Your_ letter of apology? Quite suddenly, the thing that struck me rather odd was the fact that Milo seemingly was the only boy that had the misfortune of being reamed right now by both the headmaster and his father… where were the others? Had they already received their talking-to and had been picked up by their respective parents? Why was my son being singled out like that? Did it have to do with the fact that he was in trouble for his running mouth as well while the others had managed to keep quiet? Even if that was the case, it didn’t seem all that fair… why was he the only one expected to deliver an open apology letter about the drinking and smoking?

So before the headmaster could decide that the meeting was to be terminated, I myself decided to ask him about the other boys. Both Milo and Tomlinson seemed to be surprised at my question and not only that – while the headmaster narrowed his eyes at me in obvious irritation, Milo’s eyes widened in what I could only interpret as panic.

“Dad, it’s okay,” he murmured, squirming around uncomfortably in his chair.

Huh? I looked at him, the confusion written all over my face, no doubt.

“The other boys will accompany your son during the cleaning of the classrooms, Dr. Huntzberger,” Tomlinson drawled as if I was a bit dim.

“So you mean to tell me that my son is the only one out of the four boys who will have to write a letter of apology and serve detention?” I asked, feeling anger rising up inside of me – this time however, it wasn’t directed at Milo. This time, it had Tomlinson’s name written all over it.

“Well,” the headmaster cocked his head to the side and kept regarding me with just the hint of a smile. “As I told you, he was the one who verbally attacked a teacher as the boys were caught-“

“But he wasn’t the only one drinking and smoking, was he?” I shot back. “From my perspective, of all the things that happened today, underage drinking and smoking is the juvenile offence that the boys are mainly in trouble for. And while I certainly don’t condone any mouthing off at a teacher and can assure you that I’ll personally see to it that it won’t happen again,” I gave Milo a hard look at that, “I cannot help but feel that the other young men should be part of the apology letter as well. They were caught doing something against the law red-handed, too; not just Milo.”

“Dad! Please,” Milo whined shaking his head vehemently. “It’s okay, I’ll write the stupid letter-“

“I would like an answer to my question, please,” I stated, turning my eyes off my son and giving the headmaster a rather challenging look.

Milo groaned, but at the moment, I didn’t care.

“As you wish,” Tomlinson smiled proudly. “ _How good of you to remind me, Dr. Huntzberger._ You see, your son insisted on taking most of the blame earlier… he claimed the alcohol and cigarettes to be his and the other boys confirmed that statement.”

My mouth dropped open slightly and I watched how the headmaster opened the top drawer of his desk and retrieved a pack of Pall Malls as well as a small silver hip flask that I’d never seen before. He put both items on top of his desk and leaned back in his chair.

“Come again…?” I asked, turning to Milo and staring at him in disbelief. “ _You_ brought these to school? Where did you get them?”

“Dad, I’m sorry,” Milo replied apologetically, ignoring my imploring questions.

I felt at a loss. All this time, I had been under the impression that he’d just participated in the other boys’ antics, only to find out now that he had been the one to bring both alcohol and cigarettes… Looking back at the Pall Malls, my eyes widened. Wait a moment. _Pall Malls?_

“I just thought… I-I-I no, look, I didn’t think…,” my sixteen-year-old stammered, obviously trying hard to come up with a likelier story than what he’d told earlier.

Once more, I closed my eyes briefly and heaved a long and heavy sigh. Milo was lying. He’d been lying all along – and not only that: He was covering for someone, I was sure of it. But for whom? I intended to find out soon, but not with that British nuisance present.

It was high time to wrap that sorry excuse of a conversation up and head home, I decided.

Fixing my son with a hard look, I said: “Alright. We’ll talk more about all of it at home, junior.”

I then turned my head to face the headmaster. He was still smiling triumphantly as he reached for the hip flask and the cigarettes to put them away again.

“These are hereby confiscated,” he muttered rather regretfully.

“I suppose it’s okay if I take Milo home with me now,” I half asked and half stated, completely ignoring his statement. “He’ll be back-“

“The day after tomorrow, I think. One day of suspension is non-negotiable in a case such as this one. I’m afraid my hands are tied in that matter,” Tomlinson replied, standing up from his seat and holding out a hand to me.

“Naturally,” I forced a smile myself as I stood up and shook hands with him. “Milo will make up for the assignments and classes he misses tomorrow.”

“And he’ll have the apology letter ready by Monday,” the headmaster flashed my son a toothy smile before holding out his hand to him.

Milo eyed the offered hand for a little longer than necessary and as if it was a poisonous snake.

“Milo,” I warned evenly, to which he shot me a quick glance and then acquiesced.

“Have a good afternoon, gentlemen,” Tomlinson said airily as he walked us both to the door of his office. “I expect our next meeting to be of a more pleasurable nature.”

“Good day to you, Mr. Tomlinson,” I answered through gritted teeth. The initial retort of “I expect that there won’t be _any_ more meetings” died on my lips, of course.

As soon as the door behind us closed, Milo shouldered his backpack and without so much as a look at me, took off in the direction from where I’d come earlier.

I watched him go for a long moment before making to follow him.

Fine by me, son, fine by me. You can go ahead and run, but you certainly can’t hide. I’ll get my answers sooner or later!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pheeeew. The next chapter goes straight in the feels - but I'm somewhat biased. ;-) Let me know what you think!
> 
> ** beware of a little bit of foul language and swear words **

**Milo’s POV**

I kept silent during the car ride home. My Dad wouldn’t talk to me anyway and I had a feeling that there would be plenty of talking as soon as we arrived safe and sound within our own four walls. If I knew him – and I suppose I knew him quite well – he was just saving up his strength for the big showdown.

Sighing unhappily, I looked out of the car window and sulked.

Dad took the fastest way home, of course, and he didn’t make any detours or stops, even though the small light that indicated that he was running low on gas blinked furiously from time to time. He didn’t comment on it, either.

When we finally arrived at our familiar driveway, I felt the nervousness coming to a peak. I nervously fumbled around with my seat belt before Dad had had time to park the car and had already moved my hand to the door’s handle, ready to flee to the sanctuary of my room, perhaps, but the distinct ‘click’ sound indicated to me that _someone_ had locked the car doors.

I turned my head and all but glowered at my father. He raised an unamused eyebrow at me.

“You’re not going to stomp away and hide inside your room for the rest of the day,” he stated firmly. “If you need some time to calm down and think about things, you can do that, but I expect you to come find me as soon as you’re ready to talk.”

“What if I’m never ready?” I couldn’t help but shoot back snottily – a moment later, I bit the inside of my left cheek. Argh, what was wrong with me? I was suicidal, right?

Dad’s eyes hardened.

“Maybe you don’t need some quiet thinking time in your room, after all. Maybe you need to have some quiet thinking time in a corner downstairs where I can watch you,” he threatened pointedly, making my stomach drop and my eyes widen.

He wasn’t bluffing, I just knew it. Neither Mom nor he had made me have a time out in a corner for quite some time, knowing that I hated it with a passion and that it normally did the exact opposite of calming me down – not to mention that it wasn’t appropriate for a teenager (at least in my humble opinion). Therefore, since I’d hit the age of thirteen or so, they would usually made me go up to my room to think or cool off instead.

“Sorry,” I muttered, dropping my gaze.

I heard Dad give a sigh and lean back against his seat.

“What a lousy day,” he mumbled. “I’d actually planned on ordering all kinds of take-out for the two of us tonight and try out whatever new, violent ego shooter the Playstore has to offer, since your Mom and the twins are away…”

I looked up at him in surprise and saw that he was staring out of the front window at our house, seemingly deeply lost in thought.

“The new Battlefield came out about two weeks ago,” I stated hopefully before I was able to stop myself. I sucked in a breath as soon as the words were out, wondering how he would react.

A small grin crept onto Dad’s face at that and he turned his head back towards me.

“Really?”

I nodded, smiling back weakly. His grin grew wider and he chuckled.

“That’s cool. I’ve been waiting for its release to give it a try with you,” he told me, his speech taking on an almost forlorn touch.

“Aw, Dad,” I complained playfully, completely forgetting for a moment about the great big pile of trouble I was in.

“What?” he asked, raising both his eyebrows at me but keeping his smile.

“You suck at BF,” I laughed.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked back, reaching out a hand and ruffling my hair. “Just because I don’t have the time to play five to six hours a day and know every single map by heart doesn’t mean that I’m pants at the game.”

“I’m sorry to break it to you, Dad, but you are pants at it,” I pointed out cheekily. “Maybe you should take some time off work and practice.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he allowed, laughing openly.

I looked at him with challenge in my eyes.

“So… what you actually meant was that you’ve been waiting for me to blister your sorry ass at combat mode, huh?”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, all traces of a smile on Dad’s face were gone and I wanted nothing more than face-palm myself for my sheer stupidity. I really was a hopeless case, huh? Practically begging my Dad to be in trouble with him... God, how I hated to be at my crazy hormones' and running mouth's mercy these days.

While he didn’t smile anymore, he didn’t take on a frown either – his facial expression became somewhat unreadable. My heartrate quickened instantly.

“Uhm… sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean it like that,” I hastily apologised, trying to keep the mood as light as it had been only seconds before. “I-uh... I didn’t mean any disrespect, honestly.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “It just shows me that trying to find the right balance between being your father and at the same time being your friend is really hard… maybe even impossible.”

“Dad, no! I-… I’m just stupid, I’ve got a big mouth that won’t shut up when I tell it to,” I spluttered frantically, reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. His eyes met mine and I nearly winced at the seriousness in them. All traces of humour and fooling around were gone, together with his earlier smirk.

“Please, I’m sorry. I want us to be friends. We _are_ friends, right? I mean, you’re a great father and I’m sorry for disappointing you all the time and for being such a burden. I-“

“ _Disappointing me all the time? Being a burden?_ ” he asked incredulously, looking at me as if I’d gone mad. A moment later, his whole expression changed once more and I gulped rather audibly.

If possible, he suddenly looked even angrier than when he had first barged into Tomlinson’s office and learned of what I’d supposedly done.

He looked absolutely furious, ready to breathe fire, even.

I immediately shrank back and also pulled back my hand instinctively, but he was faster than me and grabbed hold of it. I was surprised that he didn’t hold on tight enough to hurt me, though.

“It’s time for a talk _now_ ,” he ground out, looking me dead in the eyes. “Forget what I said earlier about going to your room. You get your _ass_ inside the house and straight into the living room. And don’t even think about disobeying me right now.”

I nearly whimpered at his low and downright dangerous tone. He’d cursed in front of me – as long as I could remember, he’d never done that before, not even once. And to top it off, he’d cursed _at_ me. I was stunned. Why was he so angry all of a sudden? What had I said that had been so obviously wrong for his ears?

The next moment, he’d unlocked and left the car and was leaning his upper half inside, staring straight at me.

“Do you need an official invitation letter or do you think you can manage to do as you’re told?” he barked, making me wince.

I quickly opened the car door beside me and scrambled out of the vehicle. Before I could look back at the driver’s side over the car’s hood, Dad had appeared seemingly out of thin air beside me and gripped my bicep tightly, steering me in the direction of the house and giving me a small shove towards the front door.

“Dad, I-“, I started, but he cut me off.

“Do yourself a favour and be quiet,” he ordered, opening the front door with his house key and motioning for me to go inside first.

I obeyed hastily and quickly threw my backpack onto the first step of the stair, then put off my shoes and hurried after my father into the living room. I didn’t even dare to protest or plead my case further. Honestly, what was the deal? I didn’t get it, but I was sure that I would find out at any moment.

Once we were both standing in the middle of the living room, he looked at me and pointed to the sofa.

I sat and waited, watching him with wide eyes as he stood in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I think you need me to drive a point home right now, Milo,” he said, then dropped both his arms to his sides and took two, menacing steps towards me.

I nearly expected him to haul me off the sofa and over his lap for a walloping, but instead, he squatted down in front of me, putting his face only inches away from mine and invading my personal space.

Wondrously, I didn’t even shrink back. I was far too shocked.

“Where did you get it from?” he asked, his tone clearly indicating that he expected a straight answer.

“I- uhm… I bought it?” I replied, immediately thinking that he was talking about the booze and cigarettes. Inwardly, I cringed at the lie and that it had come over my lips with a perfectly audible question mark at the end.

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“No,” he shook his head and backed away a little, then put his right hand to his forehead and rubbed over it tiredly. I frowned at him questioningly.

“But-“

“I wasn’t talking about the cigarettes and alcohol which, quite obviously, you lied about anyway. We’ll get to that later.”

He put his hands on top of my knees and looked intently at me.

“Where did you get the idea from that you are ‘disappointing me all the time’ or that you’re ‘a burden’?”

I swear, a wisp of wind could have blown me over at that moment. My mouth dropped open stupidly and I just stared at him.

His expression changed from anger to compassion.

“Milo,” he said softly and I couldn’t help that my breathing hitched and that I felt tears prickling behind my eyes for the second time that afternoon. He reached out his hands and gently cupped my face.

“Don’t you realise that you are, in fact, the _exact opposite_ of a disappointment or a burden?” he asked, his forehead scrunched up concernedly. “You’re nothing of the sort. You, little one, are the reason why I get up every morning – you, your brother and sister and your Mom. Don’t you know that? Don’t you know how much I love you and how proud of you I am?”

At the use of one of my childhood nicknames combined with what he’d said, I lost it. I simply burst into tears, like I hadn’t done in years… like a little kid.

I felt Dad pull me into a standing position by my upper arms and the next moment, he wrapped his own arms around me and I hugged him back, clinging to him as if my life depended on it.

I sobbed broken-heartedly into his strong chest, listening to the beating of his heart through his fancy Armani button-down shirt and breathing in his familiar and well-known scent that consisted of his aftershave, a faint streak of disinfectant from the hospital and his own unique Dad-smell.

“It’s okay, champ,” he muttered soothingly, rubbing up and down my back and hugging me even tighter when I gave a whimper in response. As always, he didn’t care about my tears soaking his shirt, nor did it seem to irritate him that his sixteen-year-old son was crying like a little boy. The thought of how ridiculous I was being as I was standing there in the middle of our family living room and crying my eyes out just because my Dad had assured me how important I was to him crossed my mind, but I dismissed it almost instantly. I simply chose not to care about that right then. The whole day had been a pain in the bum and I wanted nothing more than to feel loved and secure again, so I simply and selfishly soaked up all the comfort my father was offering, while I tried to slowly get my crying under control.

“It’s okay,” Dad repeated, moving his right hand to the back of my head and stroking my hair. “And if you think it’s not, let me tell you that it’s going to be. I promise.”

It took me another few minutes to calm down, but when I finally did, I was glad that Dad instinctively knew when to loosen his hug.

He gave me a quick kiss to the side of my head, then let go of me completely and stepped away, giving me some space. I kept my eyes downcast and tried to breathe evenly again.

“Here, take this,” I heard him say a second later and smiled weakly at his hand that held a handkerchief in front of my face.

“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered, looking up at him.

He smiled right back before sobering up a little and giving a sigh.

“There’s a bunch of things we need to talk about, Milo,” he stated. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you that you’re far from off the hook, right?”

I watched as he turned and walked back to the sofa, then sat down.

“I know,” I mumbled sadly. “Does it help that I’m sorry, though?”

“Of course it does, but I’m curious what exactly you’re sorry about,” he responded pointedly and I felt my face growing hot.

“How about you go take a shower while I order some food?” he suggested kindly, nodding towards the front hall. “I’m guessing that discussing everything that went on today is way easier over some Bami Goreng and a spring roll, hmm?”

Feeling a surge of thankfulness go through me at his words, I nodded, the relief probably written all over my face. I turned around and made to walk out of the room when Dad’s voice made me stop in my tracks and look back at him.

“And don’t you ever question the way I feel about you again, okay?” he said, sounding stern. “That’s one of the quickest ways to land yourself in trouble with me, I can guarantee you that.”

With that, he whipped out his mobile phone and concentrated on tonight’s specials at our favourite Indonesian restaurant. Sighing in relief, I left the living room and went upstairs to have my shower.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware of ** extreme ** fluff, you guys - I just couldn't help it. Also, there's some mentions of spanking in it, but no actual swats... and, of course, a tiny little bit of swearing. Oy!

**Logan’s POV**

I watched my boy leave the room and kept staring at my phone until I was sure that he was gone – only then did I allow myself the luxury of sighing loudly. The sheer intensity of how he had reacted to my rather emotional as well as compassionate statement had somewhat overwhelmed me. Yep, it had been _overwhelming_. There, I said it.

At first, I hadn’t even known how to deal with the sudden change in his emotions and had been quite confused as he’d opened the floodgates so suddenly… my paternal instincts had kicked in quickly, though, and while I’d been trying to console him, I’d decided that I desperately needed some minutes to compose myself and think about things, so I’d sent him to go take a shower.

Putting my phone down, I leaned back against the sofa cushions.

Why had he reacted so strongly to what I’d said? Had it just been a slip of words earlier, all that stuff about disappointing me and being a burden, or was he really believing that _BS_? To be perfectly honest, the moment he’d said those things, I had felt nothing but sheer and utter fury – and certainly not at Milo, but at _myself_.

Thinking back to the earlier scenario, I winced involuntarily. He hadn’t deserved all that display of ‘tough love’ earlier. In fact, he hadn’t deserved any of it - not for what he'd said, anyway. I hadn’t been angry with him, not really. I’d been angry with myself. Here I was, almost seventeen years into the whole parenting game and feeling quite pleased with myself for how I’d turned out as a father – a father that was a whole lot different from my own, mind – only to randomly find out that my son felt _that_ insecure and-and-and… like _a burden_?

Argh. I definitely needed to address that topic once more, as soon as he got back. I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my kneecaps and buried my face in the open palms of my hands. Why did those things always have to happen when Rory wasn’t here? She’d know what to tell our little monkey – our sixteen-year-old monkey that was almost as tall as I was and had even started to shave a few months ago, I rectified inwardly and couldn’t help the small smile that danced around my lips. She’d know how to talk to him and show him that all those thoughts about disappointing me or her or _any of us_ were completely uncalled-for.

I looked up from my hands and checked the time on my wristwatch. Almost five o’clock – Rory and the twins’ grade were probably still roaming The Big Apple right now and as I knew my wife, she would have her mobile phone somewhere in her bag. Muted, of course.

“Just great,” I muttered unhappily. I knew I needed to get a grip, though, and fast. Junior upstairs wouldn’t take forever to shower – although I had a pretty good idea that he wasn’t exactly hurrying to get downstairs again, either – and I needed to phone the Indonesian place. And, of course, I needed to decide on what I should tell him about his obvious insecurities and how I should react to the whole drinking and smoking topic… well, I supposed I could come up with an appropriate solution to the latter as soon as Milo would decide to be honest with me and give me the hard facts. Only then could I – and would I – decide on an appropriate punishment as well… one thing was for certain, though: If he wasn’t going to be able to give me one hell of a good reason for having lied straight to my face about the hip flask and the cigarettes (covering for someone in front of the headmaster just for the fun of it didn’t count, obviously), there really wasn’t a way around a spanking, as much as I despised giving him one.

After all, he and the twins had been growing up with four to five major rules: Don’t deliberately disobey Mom and Dad, don’t steal or take something without the owner’s permission, don’t put yourself in harm’s way, don’t deliberately hurt anybody else and, last but certainly not least, _don’t lie_.

Whenever one of the kids would break one of the last four rules, a spanking was the automatic consequence, more or less. It depended on the kids’ explanation and demeanour after breaking the rule whether it took place on their bare behinds or if they could keep on their clothes, but yes, that was the deal, basically.

And they knew it. They didn’t question it. Sure, sometimes they would try to worm their way out of it by giving me or their Mom puppy-dog-looks or by arguing their cases and stalling, but mostly, they accepted it and knew instinctively when they had crossed the lines and had earned themselves a sore bum.

Today and with regards to Milo’s latest escapades, it was a little trickier, though. He was sixteen years old and I hadn’t had to spank him in over a year, the odd single swats for giving me or his Mom lip aside. He was almost a man now… well, _almost_ , I reminded myself as I tinkered around with my phone and finally dialled the Indonesian place’s number to order our food.

After the phone call, I immediately went back to my brooding. What should I do? What should I say to him? I already had made my mind up regarding his stressing about being a disappointment and burden, at any rate. What about the rest? What if he chose to put up a fight or refuse to talk openly to me? What if he’d decided that he was too old for me to step in as his Dad?

According to the law, he was still a child in need of his parents’ protection and guidance. According to the way both Rory and I saw him, he was… I frowned and thought back to the earlier situation and to the way he’d broken out in tears as I’d reassured him of his place in my heart.

Just as I’d finally made my decision, I saw some movement out of the corner of my eye and automatically turned my head in the direction of the front hall.

“Hey,” Milo greeted quietly as he made his way back into the room, giving me a sheepish smile. He was dressed in black sweat pants and a white shirt that had Vincent Vega from Pulp Fiction on it – a gift from his beloved Uncle Finn – and his dark blond hair was still damp from his shower.

He looked over at me and hesitated a second before sitting down beside me on the sofa.

“Hey, rubber duck,” I teased. “If you’d taken any longer, I would have sent David Hasselhoff as Mitch Buchannon after you to rescue you from the depths of the shower cabin.”

Milo’s sheepish expression changed into a playful pout.

“Can’t you send one of those bombshells in their red swimsuits upstairs instead? In their earlier years, though,” he replied flippantly, making me laugh.

After a minute or so, I sent him a mock glare and said: “I’m not gonna spark any debates about your choices in women or how you’re supposed to talk about them. We have more urgent matters to discuss, young man.”

His face fell rather comically.

“Aww, Dad,” he groaned.

“Or would you rather discuss the birds and the bees while we’re at it?” I asked, only half-joking. Of course, I’d already had ‘the talk’ with him a few years back.

“Nah, I’m good,” he immediately held up his hands in mock surrender. “Anything but that! And I swear, I don’t see women as objects, Dad. When I meet a girl and start dating at some point, I’ll treat her like a gentleman.”

I gave him a scrutinising look and was positively surprised that there weren’t any signs of mockery or joking in his eyes – he’d meant what he said. Good. I wasn’t exactly proud of the way I’d treated girls and women when I was his age, but that was a story for another day.

“That’s good to hear. Your Mom and Granny Lorelai would have your head otherwise,” I winked at him before getting serious. The time had come to address today’s events.

Collecting my thoughts once more, I looked at him and watched for a minute as he tried to focus on the living room carpet in front of us.

I reached out a hand and patted his knee gently. He looked up at me.

“Do you have any idea why I got so angry earlier…?” I finally asked, getting straight to the point. “You know, when you told me that you feel like a disappointment or a burden to me?”

He raised both his eyebrows in surprise – quite obviously, he’d thought that I’d jump right into the things that had happened at school today.

“Well, that face tells me everything I need to know,” I gave him a warm smile.

“Uhm, sorry, it’s just… I don’t know. I was surprised, I guess,” Milo spoke up and seemingly struggled to find the right words. “I- Well… I didn’t expect you to get angry, at least not about _that_. Of all the stupid things I said today… I just didn’t expect you to get angry about those two things… You know, I thought you’d get angry about the way I talked to you or the headmaster earlier or how I mouthed off at you when we were joking about the game-“

I nodded in understanding and held up a hand to cut off his rambling in what I hoped was a gentle gesture.

“I know, I know. I haven’t exactly been easy to read earlier and I guess I acted quite out of character, too. I’m sorry about that,” I said. “It’s just… what you said about disappointing me ‘all the time’ or ‘being a burden’ to me... well, it really hit home, son. In fact, it hurt so much that I physically felt it.”

Milo’s forehead immediately scrunched up in confusion.

“But… Dad, why? I don’t get it,” he responded. “Sorry, but I really don’t. I mean… Okay, fine, you don’t think of me as a disappointment and a burden, even though I’ve messed up countless of times the past few years and that’s cool, but… why is it so important to you that I don’t think of myself that way?”

My heart swelled with pride at his words – why, I didn’t know. Or yes, I did know. He was such a fine young man… and such a smart one, too.

“I’m impressed,” I admitted, the smile still evident on my face. “The answer to what you just asked is, in my opinion, the very core of being a Dad to someone.”

I scooted a little closer to him.

“That’s what I first learned when you were born... Being a Dad or a parent in general is not about your own feelings, you know. It’s… Okay, let me put it like that: When I look at you or at Lori or Lucas, I don’t just see two boys and a girl who happen to look like me and have your Mom’s brilliant mind. I see the three most important, most beautiful human beings in the whole world. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, nothing I wouldn’t willingly sacrifice in order to keep you guys safe, happy and healthy.”

Studying his young face was once more like looking at myself in the mirror… or at least at a younger version of myself. He looked so much like me that I was even able to predict what would change in his features when I voiced certain things aloud. This time, I already knew that he would be looking at me next as if I was crazy, even before he did.

“So when you told me that you’re sorry for disappointing me _all the time_ and for being a burden, I just… I felt as if I’d had let you down, you know. Colossally. Because apart from the fact that it simply _isn’t true_ , you’re not supposed to feel that way. You’re supposed to feel safe and loved and you’re supposed to know that whatever happens or whatever trouble you get into, whether it’s by your own choices or by dumb luck, you can still count on how much I love you, because you can count on it, _unconditionally_. You’re not supposed to question it, not for one _fucking_ second. That’s why I got angry earlier… because I immediately thought that I – or both your Mom and I - haven’t been giving you the right feeling all along.”

Milo’s eyes widened even more and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yes, I said the f-word. Sue me,” I added, winking at him. At that, he smiled.

“I’m so gonna tell Mom about it,” he threatened half-heartedly and stuck out his tongue at me.

“Rascal,” I hummed, feeling some of the initial weight lift off my chest. Reaching over, I ruffled his damp hair and tousled it purposefully, making him laugh.

After that, we both sat in silence for a few moments, collecting our respective thoughts.

“Dad?” he asked and I looked back over at him.

“Yeah?”

“I think I get it now,” Milo mumbled.

Raising my eyebrows, I peered at him expectantly.

“I believe you, I really do. It’s difficult to see myself the way you or Mom see me, though,” he admitted. “’Cause… most of the time, I feel… well, sort of crazy. At one moment, I’m happy and content and the next, I get angry or sad about the most random stuff and I really don’t have any control over it…”

“You’re sixteen, champ,” I explained, as if that would really _explain_ everything.

“But it’s annoying! I really hate it sometimes,” he grumbled with a sigh. “Sometimes, I just find myself saying things without really meaning them, you know. I get angry and irritated at Lucas and Lori because they are doing… well, kids’ stuff and don’t get in trouble as often as I do… so I get angry at them, even though I don’t mean to and afterwards, I feel guilty about it. And that is just _frustrating_ , so I say or do even more stupid stuff… and then you and Mom get angry about it and I feel like crap. It’s-“

“To be expected, really,” I finished for him, looking at him fondly. “I get it, Milo.”

“Okay,” he nodded and I saw some relief in his eyes.

“Do you feel like your Mom and I pay more attention to the twins than we do to you?” I asked bluntly, watching his reaction closely. To my surprise, he seemed to have expected that question already, because he didn’t even look confused or startled.

What he said next made my mouth go dry, though.

“They’re only little,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders. “They need you guys more than I do. It’s okay, Dad, really. I mean… they’re only eight, they deserve to have more time with _Mommy and Daddy_ than I.”

The last part, he spoke rather sarcastically and with a lopsided smirk, but I could hear some longing in it, too.

“Hey,” I admonished lightly, throwing one arm over his shoulder. I was relieved that he didn’t shrug it off.

“No, it’s not okay, junior,” I told him, hugging him to me. “You’re the older brother, that’s right, so there’s probably a lot more expectations being placed onto your shoulders as it’s with the twins, but despite you being older, you still need your parents, too.”

I let that sink in for a moment before speaking up once more: “Regarding you getting into more trouble than Lori or Lucas – I can assure you that the three of you are all equally naughty, so don’t worry about that.”

“Dad!” he protested, his face flushing at the childlike word I’d used.

“I’m only teasing, Milo,” I chuckled as he wriggled out of my embrace and shot me a mock glare. “No, honestly… You don’t get into more trouble than the twins. It’s just… you get into different kinds of trouble. Those differences are due to the eight years that you guys are apart in age, nothing more, nothing less.”

He didn’t say anything in response, but nodded.

“I’m really sorry that you’ve been feeling left out, though,” I told him then, looking at him with compassion. “But tell you what: Together with those feelings about being a disappointment or a burden… I fully intend to make those go away.”

“How?” he asked, sounding doubtful. The next moment, he hastily corrected himself: “I mean… Dad, you don’t need to. Really, it’s okay! It’s not like I don’t feel loved enough or anything. You and Mom are great. I _do_ feel loved.”

I nodded, instantly feeling a lot more content. Still, I wanted to do some more and prove to him that I meant what I said.

“How about we spend some father-son-time together, just the two of us? If you want to, that is,” I suggested, choosing to concentrate on his first question rather than what he’d said after that.

“Doing what?” Milo asked curiously.

“Whatever you want to, champ. We can do sports together or play video games and watch movies… or we go do a weekend-trip, since the twins and your Mom got to go on one. You can choose,” I said, then gave him a grin.

“That would be cool, Dad,” he nodded eagerly, looking extremely pleased.

“I’m glad you think of it that way,” I chuckled. “I was afraid you’d decline, you know… Spending leisure time with one’s old man isn’t exactly every sixteen-year-old’s top priority.”

Milo grinned.

“I like spending time with you,” he said honestly. “I like spending time with Mom, too… it’s just… you know, with your jobs and Lori and Lucas having music lessons or junior baseball or…”

He trailed off, obviously at a loss for words on how to describe it best. I understood anyhow.

“Look, you know that your Mom and I are busy people… we both love our jobs and have a lot on our plates, just like you do at school, your sports teams and with your friends. We, on the other hand, have three kids that are eight years apart in age and therefore have lots of different activities and appointments throughout the week to consider, so it’s not always easy to divide our time fairly between the three of you. But if you let me, I’ll try harder. And that’s a promise, too.”

He gave me a shy smile that nearly broke my heart all over again. A moment later, he suddenly seemed to have second thoughts. Without planning to, I held my breath as I waited for him to speak up once more.

“What about Lucas, though?” he asked tentatively and now it was my turn to frown in confusion.

“What about him?” I asked back, wondering what he was getting at.

“Won’t he be jealous if you and I spend extra father-son-time together?”

Aww, junior, I thought to myself. You _really_ are a fine young man – you’re so much better than I was… or am.

“He won’t be jealous, Milo,” I assured him with a wide smile. “If he wants some more exclusive time with me and Lori should want the same with your Mom, we’ll do our best to make it happen for you kids. At any rate, it’s nothing _you_ should be worrying about.”

That statement had its desired effect and his face lost all traces of worry.

“Really?” he asked for confirmation.

I reached out and caressed his cheek gently. “Really, baby boy.”

He looked as if he wanted to complain about me using that moniker, but I wouldn’t let him.

“Suck it up, big guy,” I told him with a smirk. “You’ll always be my first baby boy, no matter how old or cool you get.”

Despite being embarrassed, he grinned – and that grin vanished as soon as I’d finished my next sentence.

Making my voice sound stern, I said: “Speaking of being a cool teenager… you know, drinking and smoking and lying to your _very strict_ father about those things – well, that’s probably the definition of being cool, but it doesn’t get you very far, I’m afraid.”

He gulped and I nearly chuckled at the way his eyes widened, but I managed to contain myself.

Straightening up a little, I gave him a serious look. “I think _now_ would be a good time for you to start explaining what went on today.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back :-) And I have a new chapter for you! We're coming nearer to the 'kernel of the brute', to say it with Goethe's words ;-)
> 
> ** beware of some curse words and mentions of spanking **
> 
> PS: The one who finds out the source of the 'quotation' that I put in there at the very beginning gets... hm. A hug and a kiss from little Milo! :-* Hehe.

**Milo’s POV**

“Dad, I-“ I began, but was saved by the doorbell ringing. Bami Goreng had once more saved the day – at least for a short period of time. Hail to the Indonesian cuisine!

I couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

My father narrowed his eyes at me briefly, then sighed and got up to get the door, already rummaging in the back pocket of his pants for the money. Before he went outside, he turned back at me and said, sounding _almost_ sarcastic: “Don’t forget where we were, you hear? We’re not done here, son of mine, not by a long shot.”

I gave him my best puppy-dog-look, but he only snorted and went to get the food. Sighing once more, I got up from the sofa and hightailed into the kitchen to get some cutlery, plates, paper towels and two cans of Sprite from the fridge. When I opened the fridge, I instantly spotted the few bottles of beer my parents stored there, too – they didn’t really drink much and mostly kept those for guests that liked beer (like my Grandpa Luke) – and I contemplated if Dad and I were on joking terms again. Usually, we did all kinds of jokes together; those ranged from using funny and sometimes teasing nicknames for each other to roughhousing around. My Dad didn’t even shy away from pranks – as long as no one got seriously hurt in the process, of course.

Leaning against the fridge’s frame, I stared at the beer bottles. Would Dad perchance share a laugh with me if I took one of the bottles over to the living room and opened it, brought it to my lips and then, at the very last second, just stated “Nah, I already had enough drinks today”?

I couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped my lips at that awesome joke, but in the end, I wisely decided against it. While he didn’t seem to be angry or overly upset anymore, he still wasn’t exactly euphoric about what had happened today… and how could he? He still didn’t know half of the truth.

I heaved a huge sigh and closed the fridge with my hip, then grabbed the cans and other stuff and balanced all of it over to the dining area, fully expecting my Dad to have taken the food over there.

“Over here, junior,” I heard him call and turned my head in his direction – he was sitting on the sofa, a pile of various food boxes from our favourite Indonesian restaurant in front of him on the coffee table. I gave him a surprised look.

Usually, both my parents didn’t really like consuming meals on the sofa and it really was a rare occurrence that any of us would sit down there with a snack even. To be fair, it had mostly to do with the twins still eating rather messily or getting distracted by the temptation to switch on the TV without permission (TV time was strictly limited with those two, just like it had been when I was younger).

Dad instantly picked up on my being surprised and grinned cheekily.

“Your Mom isn’t here now, is she?” he quipped.

“Phew, the list of things I could tell her to get you in trouble is getting really long, Dad,” I couldn’t help but utter – of course, he heard it right away. He returned the smile as he watched me sitting down next to him and reaching for my food.

“Well, what can I say… what’s life without a little risk?” he winked at me and I groaned.

“Dad, did you just-“

“No, I didn’t. And even if I did, the fact that you know the quotation makes you a nerd, not me,” he shot back with a chuckle, then busied himself with dumping his fried rice onto his plate. “At any rate, I wouldn’t talk so big if I were you. You’ve got your own list of misdeeds to worry about.”

Looking up from my Bami Goreng, I checked if the stern look on his face was back and immediately felt more at ease as I saw him giving me his best dry smirk. He’d meant it as a joke – or maybe he was trying to coax the truth out of me by being extra patient… I didn’t know and to be perfectly honest, it didn’t matter anyway. I instinctively knew that before long, I’d be spilling my guts to him.

That thought made my insides curl up. I didn’t want to tell him… I didn’t want him to think less of me, not after he’d just told me how proud he was of me and to have me for a son. How fast would that opinion change once he knew the story behind what had happened today? He was a good father, the best, even. He would never say it out loud or give me the feeling that I was anything less than the best thing that had ever happened to him – I knew that now. And of course, I believed him… but what would he _secretly_ think of me if he knew? No, I reminded myself – unintentionally sounding just like my Dad when he scolded me in my head, _cringe_ – that wasn’t how my Dad saw me. He’d really meant what he’d said. He loved me. He was proud of me, no matter what. He surely wouldn’t care about…

Giving him a careful sideways glance, I let my fork sink and looked down at my plate. I’d only eaten about three bites of one of my favourite meals, but quite suddenly, I couldn’t stomach the mere thought of eating more, yet alone the whole food box that was sitting in front of me.

“Alright, enough of this,” I heard Dad say, then felt his hand gently clasping my smaller one and taking the fork from me. I involuntarily looked back at him and almost winced at the sad look in his dark brown eyes.

“I thought you might want to eat first and take some time to settle down, but I’m getting the feeling that you’re just edging really close to up and leave or getting queasy.”

He put my fork down and opened one can of Sprite, then placed it in front of me.

“Take a sip, take a deep breath and then start talking,” he instructed, searching my eyes with his. “You’ll feel better afterwards, Milo. I promise I’ll hear you out until you’re finished, okay? I won’t get mad.”

I didn’t reply, just took the Sprite and drank hesitantly, still pondering on how to start or how I could possibly make a dash for it, without having to deal with further repercussions.

“Just start at the very beginning,” Dad prodded gently, wiping his mouth with a paper towel, then pushed his own half-full plate away from him – I was not the only one who had lost his appetite, it seemed.

“It’s… stupid. And complicated,” I muttered, dropping my gaze and using my right forefinger to trace the can’s opening.

“Careful,” Dad chided lightly, watching me. “You’ll cut your hand to shreds.”

Ignoring him and his exaggerations, I sighed and threw my head back.

“It’s a long story,” I all but whined.

Dad smiled sadly. “I’ve got time, junior.”

I groaned. “I hate when you say that. How come you always have tons of time when I’m in trouble?”

“Well, it’s a Dad-phrase. I’m supposed to use it from time to time,” he shrugged. “But today, it’s especially true. Since I’m _complete pants_ at video games, I don’t have anything else to do.”

I gave him a mild glare at his casual tone.

“I just…” I groaned again, then used both my hands to rub over my face.

Looking back at him, I frowned. “Can’t you just… I don’t know, spank me and be done with it?”

This time, Dad didn’t smile. He didn’t frown, either. He just shook his head and evenly replied: “No. I mean…, I _could_. But I won’t.”

My frown deepened.

“That’s bullshit,” I grumbled.

“No, I won’t. Not yet, anyway,” he amended casually, completely ignoring my cursing and with his eyes never leaving mine. “You know me, kiddo. Except for that one time when you were ten and started the car on your own – have I ever spanked you before discussing everything or at least giving you warnings?”

Feeling my face flush, I looked away from him and shook my head.

“No.”

“And I’m not going to start today. I don’t want you to fear me, nor do I want to demand for your respect… not like that.”

His eyes were suddenly shiny with emotion.

“I know, Dad,” I whispered, embarrassed.

“Good,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. A moment later, he looked back at me again, but this time, his expression was different.

“Instead of stalling any more or goading me into punishing you prematurely, why don’t you answer me a question… or better yet, a few questions?”

He cocked his head to the side.

“How did you like your first puff of Pall Malls? Or was it Marlboros? And how about your first sip of… well, what was it again? Tomlinson mentioned what it was, but I’m afraid I must have suffered from temporary dementia… anyway, I’m sure _you_ remember perfectly.”

I felt the little hairs at the back of my neck standing up and shivered involuntarily.

“Well?” he pressed, raising an eyebrow. “That can’t be that hard to answer. You just smoked your first cigarette and drank your first hard liquor today, surely you remember-“

“It wasn’t hard liquor!” I blurted out, feeling anger and sheer panic rise inside my stomach at his unrelenting questioning.

“No?” he asked, sounding doubtful. “You mean to tell me that there wasn’t schnaps in that hip flask? What was in there, then? Chamomile tea?”

“Stop it,” I ordered, but unfortunately, my stupid teenage voice cracked and it came out as a plea.

“With what?” he asked incredulously. “Come on, little one-“

“Don’t call me that! I’m not a little boy anymore,” I yelled, enraged. Stupid old man! Couldn’t he just leave me alone?

I wanted to jump up from the sofa and flee, but felt myself rooted to the spot. Dad was watching my every move.

“You’re not a little boy anymore, no,” Dad nodded. “You’re an amazing sixteen-year-old, you’re far more mature than I was at your age. And you’re kind, you’re brave and every single one of your friends can count themselves lucky to have you.”

That did it somehow. As always, he’d managed to finally struck oil.

“ _Shut up!_ ” I shouted right at him, not caring about the consequences. I had my eyes closed and my hands clenched into fists. “Just shut it, you stupid prick! You don’t know what you’re talking about, so _shut the fuck up_! “

I opened my eyes again and stared at him. He was still looking at me, his eyes caring and full of love. He didn’t even look angry that I had cursed at him.

“You didn’t drink from that hip flask and you didn’t smoke those cigarettes,” he stated next, sounding calm and gentle.

I buried my face in my hands, already feeling a fresh round of tears building up behind my eyes. The next moment, I felt a familiar hand gently squeezing my shoulder.

“You didn’t do anything, am I right? You didn’t bring the hip flask or the Pall Malls to school and you didn’t even touch them. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time… and with the wrong people.”

A whimper escaped my lips. And the next moment, my body betrayed me as he developed a momentum of its own – I shook my head.

“No,” I whispered, looking up from my hands and back at my father. “… and yes.”

He gave me the faintest but most encouraging of all smiles.

“Ryan wasn’t there today, either, right?” he asked next, surprising me once more.

My eyes widened.

“How do you know?” I couldn’t help but ask back. “How do you know any of those things?”

His smile got bigger. “Honestly, champ. A little more credit for my abilities as your Dad would be nice.”

Once more, he scooted a little closer to me, keeping his hand where it was. I was glad that he did, as it made me feel less alone and safer, somehow.

“Well, first of all… you didn’t want the other boys – whoever they are – to be part of that apology letter or suffer the same consequences as you. If your _best friend_ had been part of all that, you wouldn’t have phrased it like you did, apart from the fact that Ryan is your oldest friend and I happen to know him well. He wouldn’t walk out on you like that, he would have your back… if he had been part of today’s events, that is.”

I groaned.

“And do you know why I’m so sure of that?” he asked, but didn’t wait for me to answer him. “Because you would do the same for him in a heartbeat. So, the fact that Ryan wasn’t there made me suspicious, but I couldn’t be sure at first. However, when you confused the Pall Malls with Marlboros, I was one-hundred-percent sure that you had lied and were trying to cover for someone.”

He narrowed his eyes sternly at me.

“If you’re willing to cover for someone and not only risk getting expelled but getting a spanking at home as well, it’s either peer pressure or-“

“They said I could join them,” I interrupted him, once more feeling surprised at the way my mouth simply did the talking without my consent.

Dad nodded, but didn’t comment.

“They said I could join them during recess and have a go at something new, something… daring. And they said that if I joined them, I could sit with them sometimes at recess. Ryan wasn’t around today, because his grandma is sick. I felt somewhat lonely and didn’t want to join my friends from soccer or the Science Club, I just wanted to… to…”

“Be part of it,” Dad supplied helpfully and I couldn’t help but nod.

“And Sienna was there, too,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Whoopsie, wrong story! ;-)
> 
> Here it comes, the chapter you (or some of you) have all been waiting for ;-) It's written from Milo's POV again - I tried it from Logan's at first, but quickly changed tactics, as I liked describing Milo's thoughts and emotions better. There will be another, probably shorter chapter following this one, though and it will be from Logan's POV. Just FYI.
> 
> Now enjoy and beware of ** spanking of a sixteen-year-old boy ** !! Don't read if this offends you.

**Milo’s POV**

To my surprise, Dad’s expression didn’t morph into an all-knowing, wry smile or anything equally stupid. I was thankful for that. Instead, he just nodded again, and waited for me to continue. He removed his hand from my shoulder and placed it on his thigh.

“She… I don’t know. I guess I like her. She’s funny and… and she’s part of the drama group, too,” I mumbled, feeling my eartips and cheeks growing hot. “And she was with Evan and the other two guys from the football team, ‘cause he’s her cousin or something. So I figured…”

“Did she drink and smoke, too?” Dad asked, keeping his tone neutral. How weird was that? He didn’t even sound judgemental, not in the least. I guess if it had been any other parent, they would have gone mental at the prospect of their kid liking someone who was what they called a ‘bad influence’.

I shook my head. “No, of course not… Sienna told us that we’re stupid and that she doesn’t want to stick around if we… well, it was Evan’s idea, anyway and the stuff was his. But I couldn’t back out at that point, even though I wanted to. I wanted to simply walk away and follow her back to the main building, but I couldn’t. They were joking and laughing with me and it felt as if they’d like me. So I stayed… I watched them drink and smoke, I-I-I… I would have, too, but suddenly, Mr. Philips appeared and Evan shoved the cigarettes and hip flask into my hands before I even knew what was happening.”

“I see,” Dad commented.

This time, I did hear the slight steely undercurrent that had crept into his still rather calm tone. And I could see it on his face, too.

“Do you still feel that covering for those boys was a good idea?” he suddenly asked, sounding curious.

I shrugged. “I guess-“

“Oh, no,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “We’re not guessing here. I want to hear your honest opinion.”

Still, I hesitated. I knew what he was getting at – I might be sixteen and the slave of my crazy hormones as of late, but I wasn’t stupid. However, I couldn’t even bring myself to feel angry at his gentle attempt of manipulating me, if one could call it that.

I opened my mouth to answer him affirmatively, but he shook his head once firmly.

“Before you answer, consider this: You’ve already lied to me once or twice today… do you really want to add more of that now?”

My initial answer died on my lips and he even upped the ante.

“Think about it long and hard, son. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I _despise_ being lied to…” he trailed off meaningfully and his dark, stern eyes bore right into mine.

“Okay, okay! Geez,” I exclaimed hotly, feeling cornered somehow.

Dad leaned back a little and nodded.

“It wasn’t a good idea,” I finally admitted, feeling ridiculous and dumb for having thought that Evan and his friends might like me better if I took all the blame. But, there was even more to it than that.

“I don’t wanna be a rat, though,” I added, almost as an afterthought.

Dad raised both his eyebrows.

“Well, you’re not,” he said and I drew in a shaky breath, already knowing what he would say next.

“But I am, apparently.”

“Please don’t, Dad! I swear, it’s okay… I’ll just do the letter and get the detention behind me,” I immediately begged, even though I knew that any attempt of trying to deter him from speaking up in my defence was futile. That was typically for him – and for Mom. They would fight tooth and nail to protect Lori, Lucas and me, even if that meant that they would act against our wishes sometimes. Urgh, _parents_! As stubborn as mules, the lot of them!

“Nah, don’t bother,” he responded to my rambling, waving it away lazily with a hand, just as I had expected him to. “No kid of mine will be blamed for a crime they didn’t commit. And I won’t allow you to take the blame for someone you obviously aren’t even… well, aren’t even _friends_ with.”

To my own surprise, that statement didn’t even hurt me as I had probably expected that it would… maybe Dad was right. I didn’t particularly care for Evan and his two doormats… I just hadn’t wanted to feel left out at the time – and of course, I had wanted to impress the girl I felt attracted to. At the time, I just didn’t fathom that she would find drinking and smoking just as stupid as… well, as it obviously was!

I heaved a huge sigh, feeling some of my earlier regret and worry lifting. Looking at Dad, I gave him a small smile that he immediately returned.

“I’ll have another _merry_ talk with your headmaster, I suppose,” he hold me and groaned, rolling his eyes. “That will be the height of my day tomorrow, I can tell you.”

My smile grew wider at that. Then, we both fell silent.

“I’m still in trouble, huh?” I finally asked after a moment of simply sitting there and regarding my Dad.

He raised an eyebrow at me but kept his smile.

“Oh, junior,” he said and I inwardly cringed at the grim promise behind his words. “You’ve no idea.”

I hung my head.

“You do know what you’re in trouble for, though, right?” he asked, sounding serious.

“I lied to you,” I muttered without hesitation.

He nodded. “While I can absolutely understand that you felt the need to do so with the headmaster being present and all, I have to tell you… I’m disappointed that you seemingly did it with such ease – and not only once.”

“But…“ I started, then trailed off. He was right, as much as I hated to admit it.

“But?” he asked, throwing me an almost pleading look.

“It wasn’t easy,” I offered lamely. “Really, Dad, I… I almost lost my nerve.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, good to hear that breaking the rules your Mom and I have set up for you kids at least makes you lose your nerve occasionally,” he told me with heavy sarcasm – so much sarcasm that I actually winced.

He sighed. “Sorry, Milo, that was uncalled for.”

“It’s okay. I know I messed up,” I told him meekly. “It’s just… like you said, I honestly didn’t know how I could confess all that had happened to that-that-“

“Jerk?” he offered, a small smile dancing around his lips.

“Yeah. He’s really-“

“A jerk.”

“Uhm, yeah,” I grinned at him.

“It took me quite a lot of willpower not to punch him in the face, you know,” Dad confided, his voice dropping to a mere whisper.

“Please don’t punch him tomorrow, either,” I retorted, only half-joking. “He’ll find a way to hold it against me.”

“No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

He reached out and ruffled my hair good-naturedly.

I laughed and ducked away playfully, then looked back at him with some apprehension.

“I’m sorry for lying to you, Dad… and for not clearing it up sooner,” I told him sincerely. “I was embarrassed, I guess. I didn’t want you to think that I would do something stupid just to impress a girl.”

“I appreciate your honesty, champ,” Dad told me fondly. “I just wish it had come a little sooner. If you’d opened up and told me the truth about the alcohol and cigarettes at least as soon as we were alone, I…”

“I know,” I looked down at my lap. “I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate your apology, too,” he said softly, reaching out a hand and lifting my chin up. The look he was giving me was stern once more and it made my stomach do a flip-flop. I knew what was coming next.

“You know how serious I take it if you or your siblings lie. It’s all about trust and respect – your Mom and I need to be able to trust you and since we would never lie to you guys, we can expect the same from you,” he explained. The familiarity of that statement made me gulp.

“This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, but you’ve got a spanking coming your way,” he then stated, diminishing all my hopes of getting my bum out of today unscathed.

“But, Dad… I’m sixteen,” I protested weakly. He let go of my chin and cupped my left cheek instead.

“If you’re implying that you feel too old to be spanked, let me tell you: You’re not. The poor choices you made today clearly argue against that statement.”

I blushed deeply.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed,” he told me, sounding almost encouraging. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, I’ve told you that before. You made a mistake and now it’s up to me to make sure that next time, you think before you act. All your actions have consequences, Milo.”

“Yes, Dad,” I whispered, not trusting myself to speak any louder.

He patted my cheek gently. “One more thing about being ‘too old’: You’re getting there, though, I think. This is the first time you didn’t fight me upon hearing your verdict.”

I couldn’t help the small smile at his words.

“Alright, let’s get this over with. Stand up, please,” he directed and took hold of my bicep, steering me over to stand beside him, facing his knees.

I didn’t put up a fight – not after what he’d just told me – even though I wanted nothing more than do just that.

He took a moment to unbutton his shirtsleeves and roll them up to give his arms a little more freedom. That, too, was an action I was rather familiar with.

Once he was done, he looked up slightly and directly in my eyes.

“This is for lying to me, not for trying to fit in or make friends. Do you understand?” he asked and I internally fought the urge to answer back that he should just get on with it already and stop asking stupid questions… I refrained from it, as my running mouth did as he was told for once.

“Yes, I understand,” I murmured, avoiding eye contact.

“And there will be an additional swat for the way you spoke to me earlier,” he then added sternly. “No matter how upset you get, calling me a prick or telling me to ‘ _shut the fuck up_ ’… well, let’s just say that that was not a very good idea and it never will be. Are we clear on that?”

I gulped and nodded.

“Come here,” he said and I let myself be guided over his lap. He turned himself slightly to the side so my upper body was resting on the sofa’s surface. I crossed my arms in front of me and buried my face into the crooks of them.

“Since you didn’t fight me, you can keep your pants on,” he told me, then I felt his hand gently patting my back before he let it rest there – more to reassure me than to hold me in place. While my Dad was still in fairly good shape (well, for such a stuffy old man, anyway) and went to the fitness studio near the hospital at least two times a week and sometimes even on morning jogs on the weekends, he wouldn’t be able to hold me down if I would resist or fight him.

My heartrate went straight up when he didn’t say anything else after that – it was a little odd, because normally, he would always inform us kids how many smacks we could expect. I wouldn’t complain, though, fearing that my voice might betray me and come out as a mere whimper if I spoke up now.

I shut my eyes tightly and waited for the first swat to fall. When it finally came, I pressed my eyelids together even tighter, but it was no use… even though I had already cried heavily today and had originally felt as if there weren’t any tears left in my body, I could once more feel how they started to prickle behind my eyes.

Three more swats fell, slightly heavier than the first one – that’s when my tears started to flow freely and I didn’t verbally hold back either any longer.

“I’m sorry, Dad!” I cried out after the fifth smack.

“I know you are, son,” he answered compassionately, momentarily pausing his assault on my bottom. His tone gave away just how much he hated doing that and I sucked in a sharp breath as that realisation hit me with full force. I would never lie to him or Mom again, I vowed to myself. They always had my back, mine and the twins’. They surely didn’t deserve to be lied at.

Dad gave my lightly stinging backside two more swats, this time aiming directly for my sit spots. I yelped – those were the worst.

The next moment, I felt Dad’s other hand gently massaging my tense shoulders and I briefly wondered why he would do that now, in the middle of a spanking. Those seven swats surely-

“You can get up now, junior,” he suddenly said, interrupting my thoughts.

“What? But-“ I stammered, slightly shocked. That must have been the shortest and most lenient punishment I had received since the age of eight or so. He normally opted for giving me at least one swat for every year of my age.

“Unless you’re inviting me to continue, that is,” he quipped, sounding amused.

“No, no, no! I’m good, thanks,” I exclaimed, awkwardly scrambling off his lap and standing up.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked as I hastily pulled down my shirt where it had ridden up and sent him a mock glare. He then presumed to look at me and I was relieved to see that all the strictness was gone and, as always, he wasn’t giving me any funny or mocking looks either. He was just genuinely smiling at me, his brown eyes caring and full of compassion.

“Dad, I-,” I began, then trailed off and roughly rubbed away the tears from my cheeks.

Of course, he knew exactly what was on my mind. He patted the spot on the sofa beside him, indicating to me that I should join him again.

I sighed, but complied and even smiled widely as he put one arm around my shoulder and pressed a quick kiss to my temple. Usually, I would always duck away or bolt when one of my parents would offer kisses, but not when I was in trouble or something else was amiss. It actually felt nice to be showered with affection form time to time.

“You took that like a _champ_ , champ,” he drawled and I couldn’t help but laugh at his bad attempt at a pun.

“But why… uhm, I’m not complaining or anything and I’m certainly not asking for more, honestly. That hurt plenty, don’t worry,” I rambled, trying to find the right words. “But why was it such a short… uhm, well, you know…”

He chuckled.

“I felt as though the lesson had already sunk in pretty well,” he explained good-naturedly. “You got what you deserved, as always. You lied straight to my face and you cursed at me, so I dealt with it accordingly.”

“Such a big show for seven swats,” I couldn’t help but grumble – ah, hello, you big stupid teenage mouth! I was already wondering where you’d run off to!

The next moment, Dad grabbed me by my sides and wrestled me back over his lap with a laugh.

“No! I’m sorry, I was only joking,” I protested, struggling. I fully expected him to spank me some more, but instead, he just started tickling my ribcage and the back of my neck.

“Daaaaad! I howled with laughter.

He took his lovely time tickling my sides as well – and I’d like to amend my earlier statement where I’d said that he probably wouldn’t be able to hold me down if I put up a fight. That old man sure had strength!

No matter how hard I struggled, I wouldn’t manage to break free. In the end, I desperately called uncle.

“Please, stop! I’m sorry I said anything, I take it back!” I shrieked and he immediately stopped, reached beneath me and pulled me up to sit on the sofa again.

“Such a big show for some tickling,” he teased, his eyes dancing with joy and amusement.

“Well, you know what you’re doing,” I told him sarcastically.

“And you’re an imp,” he shook his head and chuckled, then his eyes fell onto the two cold plates with Indonesian food.

He got up from the sofa. “How about I go and warm those up? Are you hungry now?”

“I could eat a whole horse,” I nodded eagerly, reaching for the box with the spring rolls and taking two out of it, already stuffing my face.

Dad leaned down and gave me another quick kiss on the forehead. I looked up at him questioningly.

“I love you, teenage boy,” he stated and despite the fierce blush that instantly followed and took over my features, I smiled at him.

“I love you, too, Dad.”

“That’s good to know and I hope it will last,” he winked at me as he picked up our two plates. “Because I definitely plan on pelting you with embarrassing questions about that Sienna girl. Be prepared!”

At that, I all but groaned, naturally, watching my smirking pest of a father walking back into the kitchen.


End file.
